


One Week Later

by mrsthing



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 11:58:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20865848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsthing/pseuds/mrsthing
Summary: A week has passed since the Nopocalypse. Crowley and Aziraphale are slowly redefining their relationship. Crowley is having more trouble with it than Aziraphale, because emotions are things other people have.





	One Week Later

One Week After the Nopocalypse

Aziraphale yawned and rolled over. "Good morning," he mumbled to the empty space next to him. Crowley had taught him how to sleep. He didn't need it, and he didn't especially enjoy it, but he did like waking up warm and cozy, especially when Crowley was next to him. "Crowley?" The other side of the bed was cold. Aziraphale, suddenly wide awake, jumped out of bed and called Crowley's name several times. He found him asleep in a chair, fully dressed. He reached down and gently touched Crowley's shoulder. He still wasn't used to how slowly Crowley woke up. "Crowley? Wake up, dear boy!" Crowley opened his eyes and stared unblinking at Aziraphale as if he'd never seen him before. "Crowley? Are you quite all right?" Crowley lowered his gaze, staring into the middle distance. Finally, he said, "You were snoring, so I came out here to sleep." Which was a lie; neither of them snored, and both of them knew that. He let it go. "Come and have some tea with me." He started for the kitchen. Crowley didn't follow. Aziraphale sighed petulantly, and miracled the tea things...and a table. "Hmmm...how about some croissants?" He snapped his fingers, and two perfect croissants appeared, straight from a little Parisian patisserie. He poured two cups. "Oh dear--I forgot you prefer coffee." He snapped his fingers and changed one of the teacups into a coffee mug. Crowley still wasn't responding. Aziraphale exhaled impatiently. He took Crowley's hand, wrapped the fingers around the cup, and encouraged him to sip. "It's strong and black--just the way you like it." Crowley stared at the cup as if he'd never seen coffee before. Aziraphale sipped his own tea, to remind Crowley how it was done, and to add a bit of normality to this odd morning. Crowley put his cup to his lips and drank, and seemed to come around. 

"Do you ever wonder what we are now?"

"I'm sorry, I'm not following you."

"I can't return to Hell; you can't return to Heaven. You can't become a demon, and neither of us can be human. We still have our supernatural powers. What are we?"

"Well, I--well...

"When I fell from Heaven, I lost my identity as an angel, but I got a new identity as a demon. I had work to do: tempt people to do the wrong thing; foment dissent and discord, deliver the antichrist baby to a small birthing hospital. I had people to report to. But now I've fallen from Heaven and been kicked out of Hell; I'm out of work. So are you. So what are we?"

Aziraphale reached for Crowley's free hand, but he recoiled. The disappointment on Aziraphale's face pained him deeply. He attempted to make it look as if he was just putting his coffee mug in his other hand, but he knew Aziraphale saw through him. "My dear fellow, we are what we were last Sunday: An angel, and a demon, the best of friends, free to enjoy eternity together, with no one to answer to except one another. It's rather lovely, don't you think?"

Crowley finished his coffee and put the mug back on the table. Aziraphale slipped a coaster under it. "That doesn't answer my question," he said sourly. He stood up. "I'm going out. Don't wait up for me; I'll be late." He went out the door without another word. 

Aziraphale stared at the door. Suddenly, he'd lost his appetite. He lived in the hope that one day, Crowley would learn how to express love the way he needed him to. For now, companionship and the occasional sleepover would have to do. He took another sip of tea, but it had gone cold. He dumped it in the sink, miracled the dishes clean, and made the croissants and the table disappear. Then he dressed and left the flat. He hailed a taxi and headed for his bookshop.

He gave the cabbie a smile and a generous tip and stepped onto the pavement. He unlocked the shop door, went inside. He didn't intend to open up. He re-locked the door, and went into the little back room. Sandalphon had been right: it smelled of Crowley. Aziraphale inhaled deeply, and felt himself relax. He'd never get tired of that smell. It was why he rarely allowed anyone else in the back room.

He had to admit it, Crowley had a point. Aziraphale's job had been to inspire humans to good deeds and to "thwart the wiles of the devil." He'd had someone to answer to. He didn't anymore. If he did good deeds and attempted to thwart evil now, it would be for...what? Satisfaction? Amusement? Something to do when he was bored?   
He could be content simply to maintain the illusion of being a kindly and knowledgeable bookseller. He liked being nice, making people happy, inspiring them to good deeds, helping them when it seemed all was lost. And he got pleasure from thwarting anyone who meant to do evil. But from Crowley's point of view, they were stateless supernatural beings in human form, stuck on earth for eternity. This could get old after awhile.  
...........................  
Crowley sat on the park bench, staring at the ground between his feet. An ant walked up to his shoe, investigated it with its antennae, and went around it. He didn't bother to crush it. What was happening to him? He wished the questions didn't bother him so much. He wished he didn't feel so restless. He almost wished Armageddon had happened. When Adam changed reality, he changed more than just the world. He changed Heaven and Hell as well. When Adam told Satan, "You're not my dad, and you never were," there was no longer an antichrist, no real need for Armageddon. The angels and demons had called a truce, and were working together. 

And when Hell failed to execute him, they cast him out. "He's not one of us anymore." Beelzebub had said. Well, technically, they'd cast out Aziraphale, but they thought it was him, and there wasn't anything ambiguous about, "Get out of here and never come back!" He'd enjoyed deceiving Hell in order to maintain his friendship with Aziraphale. He'd really enjoyed breaking the rules. Now there were no rules, and he had no one to react to. He was a rebel without a cause. The thrill of forbidden friendship gone, he didn't know where the fire was going to come from. This had been the longest week of his life.

Suddenly, Crowley felt strangely warm, and Aziraphale appeared in front of him. "Shall I join you, or would you prefer to be alone?" Crowley gestured lackadaisically at the space next to him. Aziraphale sat down. "Crowley, can't we talk about this? I know it must be hard for you. No more clandestine meetings; no more coming to rescue me just in the nick of time; no more Arrangement; our love--" Crowley changed position and said, "Don't say that." Aziraphale stared, his eyes welling. "I do love you, Crowley, and I will say it out loud. Nobody in Heaven or Hell will punish either one of us for it ever again."

Crowley stood abruptly, his back to Aziraphale. He wheeled around and grasped the park bench. "Stop. saying. that! Don't you understand? I'm a demon--at least, I was--but I'm still enough of a demon that I can't bear to hear someone say they love me, I can't bear to feel it. It's painful; it hurts like...like walking on consecrated ground. I'm a demon; I'm supposed to hate. I'm supposed to be evil. I can't feel love. The Almighty took that away from me when I fell!"  
He was aware he was shouting, and looked around to make sure no one was listening.

Aziraphale's sunny face went dark. He stared at Crowley's elbow, trying not to cry. At last he took a deep breath and said, "How do you know it's painful if you can't feel it?" Crowley didn't answer. "You *do* feel something for me, Crowley. You must. You literally moved heaven and earth for me--for us. Can't we--" his voice broke. He swallowed hard, and continued, "Can't we just go on being who we were last week? Why does it have to change?"

"Because reality changed. Because we've changed, Angel."

"You said that neither of us had a side anymore; we were on our own side. And as much as I tried to deny it, I finally realized you were right. And both Heaven and Hell agree, and they're going to leave us alone. I thought that was settled."

"That part is settled, Angel. But what are we now? What is our purpose? You, you...you can continue doing good. You like goodness for its own sake. That's okay. But I'm supposed to do evil. And I've lost my taste for it." He stopped short. Had he really said that? "Maybe I've been hanging around you too long. You're rubbing off on me, maybe. But I'm unable to do good--the Almighty took that away from me. I can't repent; I'm irredeemable; I'm unforgiveable." He realized he was shouting again. "That part is settled, too, Angel." he said more quietly. He sat down again, his back against the arm rest, one leg stretched out along the bench. Aziraphale scooted away from him.

"Perhaps..." Aziraphale said slowly, "Perhaps it was better when we only saw each other once every couple of decades...or centuries? I mean, the last 11 years were wonderful for me, even though we had to be in disguise almost all the time. When Adam succeeded in averting Armageddon and resetting reality, I was over the moon just thinking about being with you for the rest of eternity, as we are, no disguises other than our human forms, no more secrecy. But...maybe you don't feel the same way?"

Crowley stared off into the distance. "I don't know..."

"Please look at me, Crowley."

Crowley turned. Oh Satan! He wished he could look at that face and feel as dark and smooth and featureless as the walls in his flat, but he couldn't. He did love his angel! Aziraphale was the sun and the moon and the stars that forbid him to be completely dark. And it did hurt like hell; it burned, and maybe there was a hint of pleasure underneath that pain, but Crowley was out of his element. He didn't know how to express it, he didn't know the words; he couldn't identify the feelings, he didn't understand the tightness in his throat. Demons don't cry. Demons don't feel. Demons don't touch. And there was Aziraphale, his eyebrows slightly raised in that gesture that always made him feel like he was falling again. 

He looked away. "I'm sorry," he said. 

"Sorry for what?" asked Aziraphale.

Crowley wasn't sure. He just knew that when someone you liked felt bad, it was a good idea to say, "I'm sorry." He didn't know why. He looked at Aziraphale again, hoping to find the answer written on his forehead or something. "I don't know; I'm just sorry. You seem to be in pain. It makes me...feel...sad..." He was really trying here. This was completely new territory for him. 

"It does? What does sad feel like to you?"

Crowley launched himself off the bench and stood a few feet away from his angel. "I don't know, okay? I don't know! Demons don't have feelings--we're not supposed to, anyway. But every time I look at you, something happens. Sometimes it happens when I just hear your voice. I don't know what it is. It hurts like hell, but not completely, and I know I should say more than that, and I know I'm supposed to do more than that, but I have no idea what the words or gestures are."

"You could try doing what the humans do." Aziraphael suggested.

"Which is?" 

"Humans who love each other embrace. They hold hands, and kiss, and stroke one another's hair, and--" Aziraphael blushed deeply. He said, almost in a whisper, "They, uh, remove their clothes and lie down together."

Crowley was aghast. "The first bit sounds okay, but that last bit--ugh!"

"The humans say it's quite lovely, actually."

Crowley softened. He just couldn't stand how beautiful his angel was. "So, uh, how does this 'embrace' thingy work?"

"You just put both of your arms around me, and I put mine around you, and we look into each other's eyes, and maybe rest our heads on each other's shoulders." Aziraphale spotted a courting couple under a tree. "Like those two humans are doing."

Crowley stared. He'd never bothered to think much about what humans did, as long as they were responding to temptation. He didn't remember ever having to tempt anyone to do the embrace; the humans seemed quite eager to do it. He'd seen them putting their lips together, and he'd been to a strip joint once in the 1960s. He puzzled at the humans' reaction to a woman dancing on a stage and taking off her clothes. They seemed to enjoy it very much! He didn't know what the fuss was about.

He turned around and found his angel standing very close to him. Aziraphale took Crowley's arms and pulled them around himself, then put his arms around Crowley, and stepped into the embrace, resting his head on Crowley's shoulder. Crowley said softly, "Tell me what to do, angel; I've never done this before."

"Squeeze your arms gently." Crowley squeezed.

Oh, Satan--there it was again! The sensation of falling, tumbling out of control. The scent of Aziraphale's skin was intoxicating. He reached up to touch his hair. It was impossibly soft. His other hand traced the curve of Aziraphale's back. The feeling of Aziraphale's body so close to his...

Suddenly, he pulled back in shock. He found himself out of breath. 

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

Aziraphale's face was flushed. He looked even more beautiful. "My dear boy; I'm only embracing you. Isn't it lovely?"

"You're making something happen. I can feel something happening! You're..you're miracling me!" He stuffed his hands in his pockets, afraid of what they might do next.

Aziraphale smiled and said, "Crowley. My dear, dear Crowley. This "embrace" is magic all by itself. No angelic or demonic intervention necessary!"

Crowley maintained his stance, his weight on is back foot. "How did you find out about this?"

"Oh gosh, it was back in the Garden of Eden. I caught Adam and Eve doing it. I even saw them naked under a tree in a field. They were...physically engaged."

"What do you mean?" Crowley asked, horrified.

"I mean that Adam was lying on top of Eve, facing her, and his p---"

"Never mind! Never mind! This is all too much. Let's have lunch!"

Aziraphale laughed. Oh Satan, Crowley lived for that laugh. It was the best music in the universe. "All right, dear boy. Lunch it is."

As they strolled past the courting couple, they heard music. "This thing called love, I just can't handle it..."


End file.
